


The Slip of a Tooth

by Cyrelia_J



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Drama & Romance, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-War, Rare Pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 20:17:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16709320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyrelia_J/pseuds/Cyrelia_J
Summary: The war is over, Cardassia is rebuilding and Garak remains in Cardassia City to aid the fledging democracy having lost both of his doctors: Parmak gone to help the ravaged North, and Julian off world with the Federation.But then he receives word of a rogue Federation augment doctor aiding their people, running from Starfleet.Unbeknownst to him at first, it isn't Julian he's chasing but Jack, and that leaves him with a tough decision.For Parmak the decision is easy when the strange group of misfits appears- save their people, Starfleet be damned.





	The Slip of a Tooth

**Author's Note:**

> So this was written for the Post Canon Cardassia zine "Uncertain Times" which is full of incredible stories and art! I was honored to be a part of it and glad I can post this now. There are also a lot of made up Northern lore and the like as well. I love imagining the Jack Pack on Cardassia Prime aiding the war effort, and especially seeing Jack and Parmak interacting so here goes nothing and thank you all for reading!

“ _ One cannot bite snow.” _

_ -old Nokaran proverb _

 

“It looks like your doctor returned after all,” Pythas Lok says by way of greeting when Garak opens the door. It’s past proper calling hours. Garak is immediately cautious as steps back into the modest parlor so that his former colleague can enter, and then shuts it.

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” Garak answers, going to the stove in the adjoining kitchen to put a pot of tea on. “Were he here, though you might find the house in a bit more disarray, I dare say that you'd also be treated to a kitchen full welcoming aromas. There’s a fantastic dish he introduced me too, beans - beans seem to grow everywhere on Earth - ground into a delicately spiced paste, an assortment of vegetables, a colorful medley of things I don’t quite recall, and a bread-”

 

“You’ve swept up recently,” Lok says. Garak looks over with a smile.

“Of course. I may be a bachelor but I’m not a savage as J-, as Doctor Bashir would say.” Lok relaxes with that subtle confirmation that they may speak freely. “I should think it obvious that I would keep my home tidy,” Garak concludes with a sniff.

“You have my apologies then. I’d merely assumed-”

“What an awful thing to do.”

“- that you had changed more than I’d imagined.”

“Well, I must admit that the svelte figure I cut in my youth has been altered slightly by rich Federation food but I think this new Dominion Diet is agreeing with me.” Garak indicates the slightly loose fitting tunic. “But we’re not here to discuss the agricultural recovery efforts. You said that Doctor Bashir has... returned?”

 

Lok places a small isolinear rod on the dining table between the parlor and the kitchen.

“A Starfleet augment doctor stole a freighter of supplies bound for Betazed, diverted it through the Badlands, and disappeared,” he says quietly. “A few months ago we started hearing whispers of that same doctor showing up with medicine and food. The Federation’s had to prioritize the major relief zones but suddenly this doctor and his cohorts appear in all the low priority spots, providing food and medicine to the mouths who’d probably be more mercifully-” Garak clicks his tongue in disapproval; Lok hardly appears chastised.

“Call it Doctor Parmak’s influence,” Garak says choosing his battles, “but I can’t say that I’m terribly concerned. One might even say that it’s beneficial to our aims for even the most disenfranchised view the Federation with a warm eye.”

 

“I see your point, but I think we can both see the potential danger.”

“The stolen supplies,” Garak agrees with a sigh, not understanding what Julian could possibly be thinking. “The Federation may not believe that certain elements here aren’t behind it. Even if they don’t they’ll likely want our assistance.”

“When they recovered the ship it was gutted. He would've had to have had help to move that on his own, or else we’d have detected it even with our limited resources.”

 

“Ja’lasar,” Garak supplies with a wry smile remembering one of the many old Nokarran fables Parmak had relayed to him. It was the story of Ja’lasar - one of the Sky Serpents - moving parts of the sky to form Cardassia Prime. Ze first swallowed earth and rocks, then snows for the mountains, followed by the trees and river, and last the animals. Each trip was a daring slither cloaked in shadows, so that ze would not be discovered by the dragons that dwelt in the fire. “Ah, don’t mind me; I've too much alone time with Kelas gone, I’m afraid. Still, I would imagine that Starfleet must have had sufficient time even with their limited capabilities to locate him.” Garak shuts the stove off at the whistle of the kettle, and finishes preparing the tea. Lok takes it with thanks.

“ They’ve been milling around like blind regnars. But my sources were able to figure out where he appears to be headed next. I shouldn’t even be telling you,” he begins before both of them share a small laugh.

 

“But you will because you’re a true friend and you know that I can’t abide ignorance- especially my own,” Garak replies easily. 

“ And as your friend, I’m telling you that there’s far too much work to be done with the Reunion Project and the upcoming election for you to be wasting precious time foolishly chasing doctors, Federation or otherwise.” Lok appears resigned, even as he says the words. 

“ He’s headed towards Nokar, isn’t he?” Garak asks shrewdly: Nokar, the miserable steppe where his  _ other _ doctor has already fled. Lok’s silence is all the confirmation that he needs. Garak thinks for one fleeting moment, that his life would be a far different one if he’d allowed the things which run from him to continue running. 

 

“Well then,” Garak says after a beat, “I suppose I should try and scrounge up some warm clothing.”

 

\---

 

“There’s a... Starfleet doctor who wishes to speak with me?” Kelas Parmak looks up from the desk surrounded by PADDs, scrolls, papers; an assortment of registry information submitted by the tribes of the steppe. The data gathering has been exhaustive; the Registry Bureau records hardly match the tribes’ own. He suspected that would be the case, but he thinks they have a good handle on all of it now. He pushes his spectacles up letting his eyes come back into focus. Roka is a young woman from the Steppe studying to be a doctor. Her long beaded hair is carefully plaited back same as his, but she’s taller than him and stronger. He appreciates the curiosity that her youth affords her, along with her skill with figures, and proficiency when she assists him in the lab.

 

“’says he wants to speak with the man in charge. Still you, right  _ oy’ya? _ ” she asks using the cheeky nickname, the Nokarran slang for “old man”. Parmak smiles. Her attitude may be overly casual but he appreciates it.

“I suppose it is,” he concedes standing up with a hiss, feeling the stiffness of his age.

“Need to be spending less time cramped up in here. You know we can all do this admin slag for ya. Everyone likes seeing you. It’s inspiring. Old Doc Parmak, hero of the steppe goes down, gets buried by the Obbies, and wakes back up like a sleeping  _ toj’lath _ .” Parmak laughs softly behind his hand at that thinking if that the case Elim Garak must surely be a fabled dragon.

 

“You’re right of course I just ah… feel obligated to see to it myself…” He follows her up the basement stairs of the only hospital - the oldest in Drav - that had escaped the bombing. He thinks he may have a room somewhere but he’s slept every night on the floor of his office, ready if he’s needed for an emergency. The patients still spill out into the halls, on the makeshifts cots, and into the auxiliary buildings. He doesn’t complain though; a few months ago there wasn't even power in the city’s Southern Sector.

 

The northern continents, Nokar and Kraness, escaped the worst of The Fire. Only the capital cities Drav and Indar were bombed during the Dominion retreat; they were the only real targets amidst the open steppe and mountains. However, the North was historically dependent on the infrastructure of The State to see to the distribution of food, medicine, and most importantly, for maintaining the Steppe Wildlife Cloning Initiative. The program, established by the Central Command in 2212, tracked and maintained a careful balance of native wildlife in a precise ratio to tribal population. Without it, the two continents would have already been hunted unsustainable levels if not complete extinction.

 

The South has historically grumbled at the expenses but Alon Ghemor – the man currently running for head of the new Reunion Project government- is different. He isn’t a Northerner himself, but the nephew of Tekeny Ghemor inherited his uncle's empathy. He understands that it isn’t just Southern lives lost in the war but all of Cardassia who’d been wounded. Alon like Parmak had witnessed the last desperate surge from the collective Northern battalions to hold the Jem’Hadar back, knowing they chose to fight rather than hide. He had sworn to Parmak the first day they met, when speaking of his vision of a new government, that he believed equity and cooperation to be the key to their future. That included support for Nokar and Kraness. 

 

So when Parmak explained there were no supplies running to the Northern continents, Alon didn’t hesitate. He said he wanted all the information Parmak could gather so they could move quickly once he was able to begin building a new coalition government. Parmak didn’t hesitate either; he left immediately in spite of Garak’s protests that his presence was vital to the election. He’s been working tirelessly, gathering information and leading the homegrown relief effort ever since. He’s sent Alon the data so far, along with the supplies they’ll need for the coming winter: vaccines, rations, and medicine just to start. All that’s remained is to wait and hope. Parmak considers now that maybe hope has arrived sooner than expected as he shuffles thoughtfully behind Roka. 

 

He’s still half lost in thought, her voice a din as she continues on excited about the visitors. It isn’t until he hears her mention a “rogue Starfleet augment doctor” that he stops and turns. There’s only one name that springs immediately to mind and that’s Garak’s-

“Doctor Julian Bashir?” Parmak asks her stopping just outside the doors as they shut behind him. Roka looks about to answer when Parmak sees a group of four humans standing in the middle of the street, wearing Starfleet uniforms in the chill of the autumn air. He looks at them all briefly, slightly confused. There’s an auburn haired man pacing anxiously. His thumb occasionally finds its way to his mouth in a series of agitated bites, while he mumbles to himself. Behind the man stands a brunette woman, made up even in the former war zone with her arms crossed, smiling up at him as they approach. It’s an oddly refreshing site. Next to her a large older man and young blonde woman appear to be tinkering with the air, the two of them quietly conversing.

 

Parmak isn’t sure what they’re doing at first, but then he notices that the buildings behind them are wavering faintly and it… it isn’t his eyes. It isn’t the normal shake of his pupils but it’s a ripple of-

“Bury me! That’s  _ zabu  _ cloth!” Parmak hears Roka exclaim softly beside him. She’s right; he recognizes it now. The modified fabric woven from the  _ zabu _ manes both shields from heat detection, and performs a rudimentary camouflage of the surrounding landscape when mixed with the right polymers. Possession of even a bolt of it was a capital offense under the old Central Command and even now it’s-

 

“Julian?” the man speaks loudly, suddenly, a jolt to his entire body, a manic grin splitting his face. “Mistah Kurtz, he dead mmhm,”

“He’s not dead,” the painted woman counters.

“ Well  _ obviously  _ he’s not dead! I think we all know that but it doesn’t matter alive or dead because he’s not  _ here  _ and I  _ am  _ hmhmhm!”

“And you’re no Julian,” she fires back with a playful smile.

“ _ Julian  _ is no Jack,” the other woman and man correct at the same time laughing.

“I’m sorry, I ah... I’m afraid that I don’t quite understand what’s going on but if we could take a moment-”

 

“Aye there’s the rub! No time no time! Like my old man used to say  _ Tempus fugit _ ,” Jack says with a shaking laugh “I am...” He pauses dramatically, stalking over to Parmak. Jack stands a little shorter but still throws two hands dramatically on his shoulders giving him a start when he declares, “Prometheus!” That grin is still wide on Jack’s face, hazel eyes staring as intently into his. Parmak is certain that the human doesn’t understand the significance of the gesture. He hears Roka gasp next to him. Parmak thinks he does too as he blinks and looks back. “Prometheus defying the gods to bring fire to man or supplies to lizards I suppose in this case,” Jack murmurs, moving his hands and the moment passes. He bites his thumb again, looking away speculatively. Parmak is silent too until Roka gives him a nudge. Well, it isn’t what he would have expected, but his mother always said that the hope spilled from the Gods didn’t always rain clear.

 

\---

 

“Humans are persistent hunters: slow, relentless, tracking their prey day and night. They never sleep - at least that how it seems to the beast as it uses its superior speed and agility to escape them only to find they’re still there licking at the corner of its eye like shadows hmhm. To the beast, the humans are machines who keep on and on until they run it into the ground broken and beaten and  _ that’s  _ when they’ve got it!” That’s what the human had said into the recording before the feed panned to Parmak, standing on some vast bit of plain, nothing behind him but red sun drawing down. Garak doesn’t know how many times he’s replayed it, looking for some clue of their whereabouts. Parmak looks well, he notes. It didn’t take long for Garak to realize that Parmak was no prisoner of the “dangerous” augments.

 

The feed is from a recording handed to him by one of Parmak’s assistants at the old hospital “should the old Obbie come by” the note read,likely written by Parmak’s young helper seen in the distance of the recording. The Northerners have always been free with their anti Order slurs. Garak takes another drink of kanar, letting his eyes slip away to the rest of the small, dark room. The glass of kanar and the large crack of a broken wall are his only companions in the miserably  _ cold  _ hostel in Drav. 

 

This is the part of the feed where the augment puts a hand on Parmak’s shoulder and Parmak’s eyes visibly track the gesture with that curious blink and... Garak takes another drink.  _ “Elim, it seems we find ourselves at odds again although in a strange turn it is my role to ask your forgiveness...”  _ If the roles were reversed Parmak would say that Garak always has it. Parmak would put a hand over his and give him that absent smile, look faintly off into the distance to avoid his eyes, and tell him that all was well. Parmak is a far better man than he is.

 

_ “Once upon a time an Italian author Collodi wrote “The Adventures of Pinocchio”. It was the compilation of tales of a wooden puppet brought magically to life. He had a cricket for a conscience that he killed in a childish fit of rage, and he both deceived and was deceived for he never quite learned any better. He had a nose that grew when he lied, and he often found himself at odds with the spirit of that poor broken cricket who only wanted him to realize his inner good. But you know, in the end the puppet was rewarded at last. His bright heart and true character allowed him to become a real boy. He and his beloved father were saved and lived happily ever after...” _

 

Julian used to tease that every time Garak lied his nose would grow until he’d no longer be able to fit through the door of his quarters. Garak would then point out that it was fortunate he had the favor of the station’s CMO. Garak thinks,as he replays that soft narration of Julian’s voice, that he’s been blessed with not one but two little cricket consciences. Both of them have been broken beneath a thoughtlessly thrown hammer, and only one returned as a spirit to guide his way. Garak would say to Parmak sometimes that he believed him his conscience, that when he faltered he could close his eyes and hear Parmak speak to him. Parmak always replied that he was nothing more than an echo of what was already there.

 

Garak finds his head in his hands as he tries to breathe so the walls stop moving. He has a decision to make, after all. Nearly fifty years later and the same quandary is still at the center of his universe. He feels the corners of his mouth tugging into a long bitter smile as he turns the message off. He knows the ending; Parmak tells him that he’s sorry but he doesn’t think he’ll be returning to Eheen anytime soon. “To Garak” remains unspoken. Perhaps his decision was the result of some deep seated defiance couched in pretty morality of that unwanted deification in Garak’s world view?Or perhaps Parmak was merely sick of seeing his kinsmen die "last on the list of every Guls damned authority in the universe"as he so heatedly hissed the night before he left?Does it matter?

 

Parmak is gone. Garak is alone. 

 

There’s a certain maudlin irony at the core of every whimsical turn of his life that always seems particularly humorous when the warmth of the kanar is full in his belly. Garak laughs. Cardassia or Kelas? Cardassia or Julian? Garak takes the glass and throws the glass against the wall before the feed ends, satisfied with the shatter. As Tain would say, questions directed at the self are the ones which already have an answer. This one is no different, he thinks as he looks at the wall and realizes that in his thoughtlessness he hit some foolish beetle blindly wriggling into the crack. It doesn't matter.

 

Garak’s always hated insects anyway.

 

_ \--- _

 

“They’re different.” That’s what Roka says to him when the last fire goes out. Parmak looks over at the tent just outside the main encampment near the concealed transport - or rather near the pulled apart skimmers put back together into a mess that manages to fly across the unforgiving terrain. He absently straightens the coat around her shoulders. “The stories going ‘round make ‘em sound like... what’d he say, Robbing Hoods? That's criminals, right? Sure don’t seem like those blubbering Southerners groveling for the magistrates on the feeds.”Roka swats at his hands. “Guls, this is why they call you oy’ya,” she grumbles and he smiles with a tip of his head. He remembers his mother would often straighten his cloak as a child the same.

 

“You should get some sleep,” Parmak murmurs and she stares back at him hard. “I promise I’ll be in shortly. This is only the second of many and ah... I know to pace myself. We need to make sure we stay ahead.” They both know that they can’t run forever. Persistence hunters, Parmak thinks as she raises her hand and presses two fingers to his. He blinks at that, but she doesn’t say anything else as she heads back towards their tent. He's left alone to sit on the ground, leaning back against his pack looking up at the stars. Parmak feels energized as he considers the sky and the stories that his mother used to tell him of the Gods. Not of Oralius, for the Oralian Way is a Southerner’s fancy, but of the Ancient Serpents who once swam the great sky lake, their shedding scales becoming the stars in the heavens.

 

Parmak reaches his hand up high from where he lays back, towards the sky, remembering when he used to believe if he could reach high enough he could touch them. The sky has always comforted him when nothing else could, the endless expanse an infinite possibility which reminded him that he was but one small part of a great beautiful whole that wanted him to live and thrive as imperfect a creature as he was. It pains him to think now that the Dominion may have breathed an ugliness into the old tales that were once their most cherished memories.

 

There was a child this morning who asked him as he knelt down and passed the replicated warm potato,if the Sky Serpents sent the monsters and the fires because they were angry. Parmak had paused then. That smile he’d always been taught adopt to when things were especially miserable or unpleasant was harder to maintain than normal. He felt a sharp moment of hate for the Dominion then which he’d never allowed himself during the worst parts of The Fire. It had scared him, that breathless feeling, and he couldn’t speak. It was Jack who appeared then,saying definitively that Ja’lasar would never do anything to hurt the world ze had created. It had surprised Parmak that Jack remembered that detail from the story he’d shared with him, and he watched with a renewed spirit as the child gave a shy smile at the human,and ran back to join the rest of the children eating.

 

Parmak looks up now when he sees a hand reaching out to his and for a wild moment he thinks it comes from the Sky Serpents themselves.

“Here, take my hand, easy, attaboy, oopsie daisy here, got you come on steady ah there right as rain.” The hand that catches his in a warm strong grip,and pulls him up to his feet in an instant,is Jack’s.

“Ah, thank you but I didn’t need any help, I was just considering the sky,” Parmak says taking just a moment before he lets his hand slip free.

“I knew that!” Jack retorts defensively taking a step back. He crosses his arms biting his thumb. “Of course I knew that I didn’t think you  _ couldn’t  _ get up but you knew that too and you could have said something so I don’t know why you’d lay there and act like you needed a hand when you clearly didn’t hmhm...” His eyes dart up and down anxiously as he steps and steps again before sitting down himself, left leg vibrating as he does.

 

It’s a very Cardassian gesture, Parmak thinks as he takes a seat back down next to him. That makes him smile. He hasn’t been around many humans but he’s always understood that humans value smiles and conciliatory behavior. Jack is more comfortable with expressing his agitation with a hiss of words and it’s... familiar in a completely unfamiliar way.

“Well perhaps I should take exception to you thinking me so infirm that I can’t rise under my own power,” He says with a butt of his shoulder to Jack’s. It’s foolish. The human wouldn’t understand the significance. But isn’t that better if there’s no expectation there? No fear, no disgust no... guilt.

“You just like the attention,” Jack answers,slightly off guard to Parmak’s forward response. He returns that butt of shoulders with a twitch his his head up and down,as if he’s unsure that it’s the correct answer to plug into the formula. It is, even though he doesn’t know it.

 

“Perhaps, or perhaps I simply know how much humans want to be the saviors of the universe. Isn’t that why you’re here, robbing the hood?” There’s a silent pause, Jack’s leg stilling, instead his hands falling to his lap, fidgeting with a multi-sided cube. It looks like some sort of puzzle with lights and dials.

“Robin Hood,” Jack corrects softly. Parmak realizes that Jack, unlike most, doesn’t find amusement in ignorance whether innocent or cruel.

“Robin Hood,” Parmak repeats not finding it necessary to keep his hands busy the way Jack does. “But ah... even heroes need their sleep, don’t they?” he asks, knowing it’s a hypocritical question but he's often found that’s the beauty of being a doctor.

 

Jack doesn’t answer him right away and when he checks every incidence of memory the week they’ve been traveling, he realizes something. Jack doesn’t sleep. Or rather, Jack catches sleep like a primitive quadruped. It comes in short bursts, sometimes against Lauren’s shoulder while they’re administering vaccines, or next to Patrick and Sarina while they perform maintenance on their vehicle. He seems to prefer Lauren’s shoulder but Parmak definitely has a recollection now of approaching Patrick with two small bowls of stew, stopping upon seeing Jack sound asleep half on his lap. Patrick took the bowls with a finger to his lips - a human gesture for silence - leaving Parmak to return to the line, keeping watch over their efforts,thankful for the portable replicators.

 

Parmak doesn’t dwell on the origin of their supplies, finding sleep elusive if he does.

 

“Would you ah... like to catch a rest on me? I’m not much but I imagine if you’re tired enough any old doctor would suffice, right?”

“You think I’d fall asleep on just any old doctor hm?” Jack asks already resting his head, with a bit of a shove that makes Parmak smile. The flash of the cube stops as it’s put away.

“Of course, Lauren is the undiscerning one, how could I have forgotten?”

“You didn’t. You knew the difference. Clearly your eyes aren’t so bad that you can’t tell a Jack from a Lauren so why’d you-” Jack yawns and turns his face, hands curling into Parmak’s sleeve like the young of one of the extinct primates of the South. It digs a bit,but discomfort hardly bothers him. He feels a sudden heaviness, as if every weight from Jack’s body spills into the earth in that moment spent and unburdened. Parmak looks up at the sky again.

 

“I wonder,” he whispers out loud,thinking that Jack's already fallen asleep.A quick glance reveals that he hasn't, but is instead looking at him closely. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Gautama Siddartha was a prince of the kingdom of Sakya,” Jack begins quietly in a controlled voice marred only with an occasional stutter. “He was destined to become a ruler, one of the most powerful on Earth, a man who wanted for nothing, knew no s-sorrow, a man who knew no s-suffering, who knew nothing outside the walls of the palaces. But there was a day when the prince went out and witnessed all the suffering in the world, death, age, poverty, and it turned his heart, it affected him so d-deeply, it pained him, it pierced him, every bit of him when he knew... what was outside, out there and he knew that he had to s-search for something else, to find something else.”

 

“Jack,” Parmak starts but feels one of Jack’s hands loosen its grip, drawing his attention.

“I don’t have time to sit under a  _ bodhi  _ tree with the demons s-splitting the mountains for my head. I don’t want to be kept in a palace until it’s time to take the place I’ve been assigned. It’s a prison that we escaped from, a gilded cage, sing nightingale sing and I can’t be a doctor or a scientist or give anything meaningful in that world,” he whispers and Parmak realizes that he’s taken Jack’s hand in his.

“The State is... Our... our beloved State will always welcome you here... anyone who wants to help us rebuild and become a vision of the future that C-Carda... that we  _ all  _ deserve. Thank you for... for not abandoning us.”

“ I know what it's like to be abandoned,” Jack says squeezing his hand hard.

 

“My Cardassia would never abandon anyone who would stand with her. I wouldn't either.” Parmak doesn't blink, doesn't look away as Jack squeezes his hand harder. Parmak imagines if he were a human it might be painful. He puts his forehead to Jack’s closing his eyes. The pressure of that grip doesn’t hurt him. It feels nice to have that strength push back against him.

“Sorry... sorry I shouldn't...” Parmak feels Jack’s hand trembling in his and doesn't allow it to slip away.

“If you’re sorry then stop. If you’re not sorry then... then don’t apologize, and don’t let go.You won't break me... Nothing has yet.” Their hands rotate in tandem, one thumb over a wrist, fingers pulling back, a twist, a press of palms that makes Parmak’s heart race faster.

 

“I’m... I’m kissing you aren’t I?” Jack asks leaving Parmak to wonder just how much he knew of what he’s been offering all along. “I’m kissing you and you’re not telling me, you’re just going to let me...”

“Yes. Yes I am.” Parmak moves his hand so that their fingers intertwine, interlocking one after the other. “If it’s alright I’m going to-”

“I can’t... I can’t do it the human way. I can’t... have things near my mouth or I-” Parmak tips his head and nips the corner of his mouth, feeling the warm rush of Jack's breath when he does.

“It’s alright. I’ve been bitten by a snake before...”

 

\---

 

_ “The story goes that one day a scorpion was looking to cross a river and came across a frog.The scorpion asked the frog if he might be able to ride on his back to the other side. The frog was suspicious at first, saying that he didn’t trust the scorpion not to sting him, but the scorpion ultimately convinced him. Midway across the river, the scorpion stings him and they both began to sink. The frog asked why he’d done that, for now they’ll both die. The scorpion replied that he couldn’t help himself. He was a scorpion and that was his nature.” _

 

That’s the beauty of that tale, Garak thinks as he approaches the Starfleet officers gathered outside the hostel, meeting him exactly as he arranged. The scorpion knows that his actions will destroy them both and yet the reader may be certain that he’ll make the same ill fated choice every time.

 

He is a scorpion, after all.

 


End file.
